Exciting. That was the way this was supposed to feel — although Noble didn't think he would feel excited even if he actually trusted it — and he suspected that he was going to have to learn to fake it better. The look Tilda gave him certainly suggested that; it was fine if she knew that he wasn't entirely thrilled with the match, but if the general public started to guess that Noble had doubts, then they would have doubts too.

He grinned at Tilda over his pint glass when she talked about her family, but suspected that he couldn't just leave the wedding at that.

"You should have an invite — soon?" he said, "I'm not sure when Mama and my sister are getting them out, but I think they've been working on them." Since this was to be a proper wedding — if it actually happened, which, again, Noble lacked faith — then he was going to have to invite friends. He'd bring it up to Mama later. He could give her a short list.

Noble was much happier talking to Tilda about her own family, and grinned again before he continued. "I can imagine. The rain puts me in a bad enough mood, and I get to go inside. Are you busy with the Hebrides as well as the hospital, or can your Ma handle it?" Tilda was part of what Noble privately considered to be one of the mot interesting families in Britain; this was still not the point of his wanting to talk to her, but he could have chatted about adventures in Scotland for most of the afternoon and been pleased.

Sometimes that was what Noble thought he wanted: adventures and bravery and a life people talked about. He knew he was never going to get it, though, and maybe the spotlight wasn't even suited to him — so it wasn't worth thinking about. He could make things up to the dead from the Sanditon another way.

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